Latin American in West

You dig your grave with your teeth,â?� so the saying goes, and after my meal at El Rey de la Papa (literally, the Potato King), I certainly felt acutely aware of my own mortality. An overload of starches brought me a few inches closer to six feet under, while a thorough scarfing of red meat had the tempo of my pulse beating like a rhythmic death knell. Oh, well. 'Better to pay the butcher than the doctorâ?� goes another saying, and the good-natured meat cleaver here was paid in full. She goes by the name of Jacqueline Sandoval, and on any given night, she can be seen scurrying back and forth from the kitchen to the colorful Christmas-colored dining room delivering gastronomic gifts from her native Colombia.

A fair chunk of menu real estate is devoted to baked potatoes and scores of associated toppings. However, the spuds at Jason's Deli still hold an edge over El Rey's prodigious papas, due in part to the freshness factor of said toppings ' the mixed vegetables here tasted like they came out of a frozen bag. Nevertheless, the quantity-over-quality supreme potato ($7.50) is ornamented with a surfeit of somewhat savory embellishments: cheese, sour cream, butter, ground beef, chicken, shredded beef, ham, bacon, chili, broccoli, peas, green beans, carrots, corn, sweet plantain, mushrooms, tomatoes, lettuce. OK, breathe.

Rustic rib soup ($4.99) served with a plate of rice was a far and away better, if not outstanding, starter. The corn on the cob was missing, but melt-in-your-mouth cubes of beef ribs lolling in a clear broth anointed with cilantro and weighted with lumps of potatoes, carrots and cassava makes it obvious why the soup is a national dish in Colombia. Shredded beef is encased by a pastry shell crunchier than any I've sampled elsewhere, but that just made the empanadas de carne ($1.30) all the more enjoyable. Sandoval serves them with a decanter of a cilantro-heavy hot sauce that you'll want to daub onto every dish within spoon's reach.

Any hopes of a juicy, succulent churrasco ($14.99) went down in flames, those scorching licks charring the hefty slab of an overly well-done skirt steak. Multiple applications of the aforementioned hot sauce couldn't re-moisturize the meat, and the equally desiccated sweet plantains just made the dish drier than a Bogotá winter. To my surprise, the pechuga empanizada ($8.50), or breaded chicken breast, was every bit the juicy, succulent slab of meat that the churrasco wasn't. Pounded flat, the chicken was then coated with an herbaceous breading that makes it a prudent choice for all palates, no matter how divergent. If you're looking to veer off the beaten path, you can always lap up the lengua en salsa ($7), or beef tongue in a criolla sauce. With all the pork, beef, sausage, fried egg and beans, there's enough protein in the traditional bandeja paisa ($12.95) to feed a jungle full of bush dogs.

Desserts, thankfully, forego tubers and meat for milk and sugar ' milky tres leches ($2.50) and silky vanilla flan ($1.50) satisfy. Refreshing smoothies ($3) made with soursop and naranjilla (commonly known as guanabana and lulo, respectively) complement the fleshy feast, and add a little sweet to your meaty meal.

I owe many of my favorite meals to my husband's penchant for monster movieplexes with stadium seating. For months, our friend, who happens to be Cuban, had been trying to get us down to his part of town to eat at his favorite Latin place, Pio Pio. The problem was, he lives in a southern part of town I generally refer to as the BFE – the Bad Food Extravaganza. Snobbishly and repeatedly, we refused the invitation.

Then one night, we were leaving the Cinemark Festival Bay Theater – after watching a loud movie in which humans outsmarted aliens, natural disasters abounded and everything else blew up – and, suddenly, I was hungry. And there it was – Pio Pio (which translates into "Chick Chick"), sequestered in a wasteland of deserted shopping malls off a six-lane highway. Later, I realized my friend was right about this place, to which I would return again and again, like a sequel junkie.

Pio Pio, a Peruvian and Colombian restaurant, opened its first Orlando location in October 2000. After successfully running four restaurants in New York, the Diego family decided to try their luck here and opened close to a dollar theater near Kissimmee (11236 S. Orange Blossom Trail; 407-438-5677). Months later, another family member opened a location on International Drive near Kirkman Road, strategically situated on our driving route home from the movieplex. This past summer, another site popped up on the southeast side (2500 S. Semoran Blvd., 407-207-2262). Let's hope they have a Godfather-sized family, so they can keep them coming.

The menu choices are the same at all the Pio Pios, and they are limited; but in my experience, this is exactly what makes them so appealing, because everything is good. The "pollo Pio Pio a las brasas" ($8) is some of the most exquisite rotisserie chicken that has ever crossed my lips; consistently tender and moist, its crispy, herbed skin is the treasure. Juan Diego, owner of Pio Pio on I-Drive, claims the secret is a family recipe. But he agreed that the original marinade, a mixture of spices, vegetables and herbs, does make the difference.

Their beans and rice ($4) are a homemade Colombian-style mainstay. The beans are plump and supple, seasoned with just the right amount of pepper and garlic, in a brackish broth of their own flavorful juices. I've never tasted rice so consistently tender, devoid of the starchy mushiness that so many restaurants try to pass off as rice. Orders of tostones, maduros and yuca ($3 apiece) are best when dipped in the worship-worthy sauces that come with every meal: tangy garlic, and a green-tinged hot sauce made with jalapeños and habañeros.

Although chicken is the star at Pio Pio, they serve a very decent grilled steak with french fries for a mere $9.50. Also on the menu: pork chops ($9.50), empanadas ($1), posole-style chicken soup ($3) and saffron rice ($3).

Tucked away behind a curved bar littered with chicken statues, wine bottles and plants is the giant rotisserie. There is a row of wall hangings at eye level on the bright-orange walls – letters from customers and New York Times reviews – that we had to lean into awkwardly in order to read. The atmosphere is comfortable and complete in its family modesty.

For dessert, the exceptionally tasty flan ($4) and the tres leches ($4), both made in-house, are recommended. A good flan has no air bubbles and is doused in deep-amber caramelized sugar, and Pio Pio's is flawless. My favorite dessert, by far, is tres leches, dense yellow cake soaked in three milks (condensed, evaporated and half-and-half). Please, skip the crème brûlée – you're at a Latin restaurant, after all, and a good one.

It's a rare movie – never mind the bombs and brains – that isn't worth a try, when there's Pio Pio waiting afterward.

Some images naturally evoke romance – not the Harlequin variety, but a more decadent version made up of long, luscious nights of freedom and beauty, love and passion. For me, this fantasy is colored in a tropical patina that conjures Havana in the 1950s, something the Samba Room also effects. OK, so you're not exactly sitting oceanfront at a deco hotel sipping mojitos: You know you're in a suburban strip mall that sidles up to a sinkhole. But you don't really care because you're having fun, eating good food, and the atmosphere is convivial and very romantic.

Samba Room's change of ownership back in 2003, from Carlson Restaurant Group (TGI Fridays) to E-Brands Restaurants, has done it justice. E-Brands has a careful hand in the kitchen and a wonderful way of creating ambience.

"Would you like to sit inside," the smiley hostess asked, "or out by the lake?"

Inside was festive and enticing with loud Latin music and brightly colored Diego Rivera-esque murals. Airy white curtains, so gossamer that every draft becomes a tropical breeze, bring life to the darkest corners. But it was a beautiful night, so we chose to dine outside by the lake. We sat, sipping cocktails beneath white rattan paddle fans, and peered inside at larger parties crowded around tables, talking loudly, laughing, engaged in each others' company under russet-orange lights. This is what you call casual elegance.

We started with an order of Samba ceviche ($8.95), which mixed market-fresh fish, shrimp, red onions and colorful peppers in a lime marinade. Pleasantly tangy, the dish swelled with flavor, balancing acidity and salinity. My mouth never puckered with displeasure. The roasted hominy on the side added satisfying texture to the delicious dish.

The empanada sampler ($7.95) consisted of both sweet corn and pork varieties. Surprisingly, we liked the nontraditional sweet corn because it had fuller flavor and more filling. Both of the delicious sauces served with the empanadas were delicate fusions. Listed as "sofrito" (annatto-infused lard with vegetable garniture) and "aji amarillo" (a lemony capsicum from Latin America), they were modern streaks of emulsified flavor, distant cousins to the traditional varieties, running down an edge of the plate.

For my main course, I tried Spanish paella ($25.50). Tiny red strands of saffron spattered the mound of rice laced with calamari, shrimp, white fish, chicken and some of the biggest mussels I've ever seen. The deep, earthy, subtle perfume of saffron followed the dish out of the open kitchen into the air. Half of a Maine lobster was the crown jewel of the dish.

My partner got the pork barbacoa ($18.95), marinated and roasted in banana leaves. Unwrapping the leaves, he found a tender piece of pork nestled under a blanket of sweet, citrusy barbecue sauce.

We were intrigued by the shiitake mushrooms al ajillo ($3.95) that spectacularly showcased traditional Asian mushrooms in Latin garlic sauce.

I was about to burst when the espresso tres leches ($6) and guava cheesecake ($6) were delivered. I ate half of the excellent Kahlua-spiked tres leches before switching plates for a bite or two of the zesty cheesecake. The server brought café con leche ($4.50) to end our meal, and we sat looking over the still Florida water, slowly sipping the creamy, sweet coffee.

"We should plan a trip to Cuba," I said, as we walked under industrial fluorescents across the vast suburban parking lot.